


Lethal Addictions

by 17734



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, ear yanking, immoral seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-03 21:46:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1073412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/17734/pseuds/17734
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Knight Commander drinks too much wine. The First Enchanter tells too many lies. Unfortunately, bad habits have consequences. And sometimes, these consequences are equally addictive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Intoxication

**Author's Note:**

> I've been hoarding Meresino stories in my documents folder and since no one else is posting them these days, I decided to brush them off and share them with the world. Please pardon all immoral, dubious, treacherous and shocking content.

If forced to review herself- which she hated to do yet did far too much- Knight Commander Meredith had a few bad habits. Lyrium addiction was the most obvious one and she admitted that as easily as she admitted to being a templar. She did not necessarily tell people that the craving had gotten much worse over the years, the constant strain she underwent to protect Kirkwall draining her resilience rapidly. She did not mention the relentless burning in the back of her throat nor the desperation with which she drank each nightly dosage. She also kept quiet the extra flasks she had illegally obtained and hidden in her quarters.

  
That was one bad habit. Wine was the other one. Meredith liked red wine specifically. While lyrium revitalized her flagging body after a day of killing blood mages or bending for hours over Chantry paperwork, wine was simply an emotional crutch. Another child mage turned into an abomination? Have a glass of wine. Another failed Harrowing, the apprentice’s corpse warped by possession? Have a glass of wine. First Enchanter Orsino once again accusing Meredith of being a heartless, metal golem who enjoyed her duty to kill? Have a bottle.  
It was the Wintersend holiday however and everyone was getting drunk, only the unluckiest templars still on duty to watch over the partying mages. That meant all the commanding officers of the Order were closeted together in some random room with far too much alcohol, loudly playing cards and trying to forget that they wanted to kill themselves every other day of the year. Meredith sat among them, quite content to be losing badly- Maker, she had plenty of money and no family to spend it on- and absently adding a dry remark to the conversation here and there. It was enough that she trusted every person around her, enough that their laughter was genuine. She relaxed for the first time in months and let the horrific memories of her daily life just fade into the hazy distance.

  
At some point that night, she found herself in the deserted templar hall with no distinct recollection of leaving her men. She had the vague inclination to retrieve some things from her office however and her feet guided her steadily in that direction, her normally rigid walk made fluid and unhurried by the wine. She hummed quietly under her breath, a song from her childhood that sounded sad and eerie in the Gallows. Her voice cast soft echoes around her, augmenting her listless footsteps.

  
She opened the door of her office, pleased to see that the braziers were still burning inside. She closed the door behind her and turned, pausing in confusion.

  
“What are you doing in my office?” she asked the elven mage who sat at her desk.

  
Orsino looked up from whatever he was busily writing and said flatly, “this is _my_ office, Knight Commander.”

  
She looked around, counting the bookshelves- yes, there were two- and noting the strict cleanliness of the room. She frowned, crossing her arms over her chest and raising an eyebrow.  
“That’s the best excuse you have for going through my papers?” she demanded, stalking over to him. She met his gaze from across the desk, glaring despite the way her vision blurred at the corners. “I suppose this isn’t my desk either?”

  
It was definitely her desk.

  
Orsino noticed her inspecting the mother of pearl inlay around the desk’s edges. “You do realize that our desks are perfectly identical, don’t you?” The ridicule in his voice was undisguised.

  
“In which case,” she theorized sarcastically, “you might have used magic to bring your desk into my office, switching the two for some nefarious purpose that only you comprehend?”

  
“Or I could be sitting at my desk in my office talking to a very drunk templar,” the First Enchanter countered, blotting his parchment and setting it aside to dry. “Casual clothes suit you, by the way.”

  
She blinked, noticing for the first time that she was not wearing plate mail. The wine Cullen had accidentally spilled on her earlier had stained the sleeve of her red tunic, the splotches of alcohol just slightly darker than the fabric. She sighed. “My shoulders don’t feel any lighter. All this time, I thought my armor made me tired and it was really the weight of your insufferable existence.”

  
“Is that any way to reply to a compliment?” he murmured, extracting another paper from a stack beside him and scribbling on it.

  
She glanced at the page but the letters blurred illegibly. That was no proof of her inebriation; Orsino’s handwriting often was illegible. “Are you going to make me wait all night?” she demanded. “Get out of my office.”

  
“No, Meredith,” Orsino sighed, crossing a T viciously. “I have no intention of moving until at least four AM. Go bother one of your templars.”

  
He was being completely unreasonable, of course. The fact that he was in her office was suspicious enough but he was in her office on the night of Wintersend, at perhaps two in the morning while most of the Templar Order was passed out cold. She had caught him red handed; the least he could do was apologize and leave her in peace. Instead, he came up with ridiculous excuses and ignored her demands completely. She pinched the bridge of her nose between two fingers, expelling an irritated breath. If Orsino was up to something, it probably meant blood magic. Where was her sword?

  
Seeing that there were no sharp, pointy objects within reach, she settled for walking around the desk, seizing the elf’s right ear and yanking hard.

  
“Gyaah!” the First Enchanter exclaimed, dropping his quill to free himself from her grasp. He recoiled away from her, his green eyes wide with startled indignation. He defensively covered his abused ear with one hand. “Meredith, what in Andraste’s name- that hurt!”

  
His reaction struck her as hilarious. A low chuckle escaped her lips, her laughter disused and unpracticed. It warmed her far more than the wine had been able to and her body felt lighter. She smiled at the mage, deciding on a whim that he was the most adorable thing she had ever seen. Those big eyes! “Go on,” she insisted, her voice brimming with affection that hadn’t existed a minute ago, “get out before I must use more extreme measures.” Like yanking the other ear.

  
“I’ll tell the Grand Cleric,” he threatened warily, a strange look flitting across his face.

  
“‘Elthina, that tyrant Meredith yanked my ears!’” Meredith mimicked, doing a fairly decent impression of him in her opinion. As an after thought, she waved one hand through the air, imitating those distracting, long-fingered gestures of his. “‘It’s clearly oppression!’”

  
“Clearly,” he agreed, a wry note in his voice. “Mages everywhere will cower in fear of your new intimidation tactics.”

  
“The ones with annoyingly long, pointy ears at least,” she quantified, seating herself on the edge of her desk and looking down at him. He glanced at her leather-clad thighs and shifted some papers to the other side of the desk where they were safe.

  
That warm feeling was spreading through her body now, calming her and filling her with a bizarre contentment. She could almost delude herself into thinking that the world was composed of this one, brightly lit room and that the conflict between her and Orsino was all a joke to be laughed off. She enjoyed this- the same banter they used to attack each other daily turned into something lighthearted. Why couldn’t it always be like this?

  
She tried not to look past him at the windows where black darkness collected, chilling and cold. The shadows of the world were pressing hungrily at the glass and trying to get into the office.

  
“You should go to bed, Meredith,” the First Enchanter suggested, returning to his writing.

  
Irritation tugged at her. Again he was telling her to leave when he was the one in her office! Had he no shame? She looked back down to the paper he was working on, struggling to make sense of the words. “What are you even writing?” she demanded, trying to sound suspicious. She grabbed his shoulder for balance as she leaned closer to the page. Something about…Ostwick…?

  
He pushed the paper away, granting her his full attention. “It’s my business, Meredith,” he said distinctly, “just like this is my office.”

  
“It isn’t your office,” she insisted. She fingered the collar of his robes, the gold edging hard beneath her fingertips. Mages were so excessively ostentatious. Was this what they spent all their profits on? Did the Formari slave away every day so that the Circle could buy fancier silk robes? Did the Order suffer in heavy plate mail while the mages lounged idly about, wearing fine fabrics-- reading _books_ -

  
Orsino stood from his chair, pushed her down onto the desk and kissed her hard.

  
The moment froze and contracted. The office was gone. The darkness that had been lurking a moment before was gone, faded away into nothing. The mage’s beautiful hands tangled in her hair, his lean body pressing her to the desk and his paperwork scattered across the floor. The scent of parchment and herbs clung to him, spicy and sharp as it filled her lungs. His mouth was insistent, desperate. His tongue brushed over her lower lip, demanding entrance.

  
Something clicked in Meredith’s head. _Yes_.

  
She parted her lips, catching the back of his neck to pull him closer as their tongues entwined. The kiss was needy, intimate but it still contained an underlying feel of challenge. His tongue pushed roughly into her mouth; a low hum left her throat as she fought off the intrusion, nipping his lower lip and delving past his lips. His hands drifted over her, fingers digging into her shoulder, ghosting down her side then squeezing at her thigh. She broke the kiss to go after his ear, her teeth closing lightly over his earlobe. She lavished the pointed shell with her tongue, causing him to groan and shift restlessly against her. The high collar of his robes protected his neck; she tugged at it irately.

  
“Not here,” Orsino said, his breaths coming faster. He straightened, stumbling back a step as she rose with him. She shoved him against the wall, kissing him urgently. His hands found her hips, pulling them firmly against his. She moaned into his mouth, feeling fire ignite in her blood. Had she been burning all this time without realizing it? Her desire was so intense that she wondered how she had ever endured a minute without touching him. Maker, there was too much cloth; she fumbled with the clasps of his robes.

  
“Not here,” he repeated forcefully, pushing her away. He quickly returned to the desk, stooping to snatch up papers that had fallen.

  
“Orsino,” Meredith growled, stalking after her quarry.

  
The mage rapidly gathered his parchment into one haphazard stack, folded it in half and tucked it into his pocket. He turned as she came up behind him, wrapping one arm around her waist.

  
“Come with me,” he said, pulling the Knight Commander along out of the room. He closed the door behind them, waving a hand to extinguish the braziers as it swung shut.  
Meredith scarcely cared where they were going, letting him lead her down the corridor and back into the templar hall. She leaned one head on his shoulder, undoing the buttons of his collar as they went up a set of stairs. The world was a blur of shifting shadows, torches here and there adding painful bursts of light that made her mind spin and her arms cling tighter to the elf.

  
The haze briefly receded from her brain as they passed by a pair of templar sentries. The two armored guards were slumped against the wall, silent as they stood with their helmets slightly askew.

  
“The sentries are asleep,” she said lowly, coming to a stop. Orsino pulled at her and she stumbled slightly but didn’t follow. “This is the Circle tower…Did you bewitch them?”

  
“They’ll wake up in another moment,” the First Enchanter assured her. “It’s only a sleep spell- or did you want them to see us together?”

  
She released a slow breath, trying to think. He stepped closer and kissed her. The wave of heat filling her body made her head spin. His lips moved to her neck, warm and wet as they teased across her throat. She bit back a moan, letting him pull her down the hallway once more. Thinking was pointless.

  
Then they were in his quarters. Orsino closed the door, a click sounding in the lock though he had used no key. He was gone for a moment but returned quickly, pressing a glass of wine into her hands. Gleaming currents of lyrium swirled in the dark, red liquid, catching the candlelight. She drank, trembling with lust as he pulled the tunic from her shoulders and kissed every inch of skin he laid bare. His mouth was hot against her shoulder, his lean body pressing against her back. She turned her head, nuzzling his neck before pulling him into another passionate kiss.

  
His hands found her breasts, kneading lightly at first then with more urgency as their tongues struggled. The tunic fell past her hips, her smalls soon following. The bare forefinger and thumb of his gloved hands twisted her nipple, the dark cloth across his palm cradling her breast. She could feel his arousal pressing against her and she sought after it, turning in his arms to grind their centers together. They were both breathing hard, gasps and moans swallowed in the other’s mouth. Meredith drew back enough to hold the goblet to his lips and he drank, a rivulet of wine spilling from the corner of his mouth. She caught it on her tongue, pulling at his robes until they slipped away and collapsed at his feet.

  
When their clothes were gone, he guided her to his bed. She hindered their progress, needing to run her hands over him, needing to touch the angular planes of his stomach, his sharp hip bone. Hunger was seething in her blood and driving her mad, making her realize how often she had stared at him before. The memories swam through her brain. She had noticed his effortless, contemplative grace and the intelligence that always gleamed in his vividly green eyes. She had tracked his movements, watching the careless arc of his wrist or the alluring curl of his fingers as he cast spells. She could attach facts to his body now, the pallor that came from too many hours shut in his office, the thinness that came from stress and missed meals. The marks of strain on him seduced her, revealing that his job was just as agonizing as hers, just as conducive to nightmares…

  
Now as they sank down onto the soft sheets, writhing together in a tangle of limbs, real life was the nightmare and bliss was right here, tasting of lyrium and wine. He would have topped her if he could but she wouldn’t have it, pinning him down and trapping him beneath her. Meredith pressed Orsino’s body to the bed, her knees locking tightly around his legs as her hands continued to explore him. He became increasingly undone, surrendering beneath her forceful caresses. Her fingers wrapped around his length, squeezing firmly and his hips bucked; he breathed out her name, his voice low and frantic and nearly pleading. Heat coiled in her stomach, sinking down into her core and spreading in shivers through her body. His eyes were glazed and pained, his long fingers clawing at the sheets and his back arching off the bed as he thrust against her palm. She wanted to touch him, taste him and bite into him, to drive him over the edge again and again just to see such senseless desire on his face- but this was the first time and she was far too desperate herself to possess even a shred of patience.

  
She sank herself onto him, the maddening heat and wetness sweetening the sensation of being filled. Her hand settled on his chest for balance, her hips slowly rolling as she tried to prolong the moment- if she let it go too fast, if she didn’t savor it then it would be gone and--

  
“Meredith,” Orsino groaned, her name low and rough on his lips. He broke something in her and with a harsh cry, she rose up and slammed back down, setting a vicious pace. He thrashed beneath her, his hips thrusting against hers as he gripped her thighs. She closed her eyes and the candlelight disappeared, replaced by darkness and her lover’s voice joined with hers. Control slowly escaped her grasp, slipping away a little more as her head spun and every nerve in her body burned with the decadent rhythm of Orsino’s embrace. The mage seemed to think control was useless. They drove each other to the edge, struggling against each other and then holding on for dear life as mind-numbing pleasure spasmed through their entwined bodies. Meredith clung to him, helpless to do anything but ride it out and feel until all the strength had drained from her limbs and there were tears in her eyes.

  
The warmth of his seed filled her but her vision was already tunnel-like and she sank down to the bed beside him, still wrapped in his arms. The canopy of his bed spun in circles above them, blue brocade with dancing designs in golden thread. She either slept or passed out.

  
Later- since the night seemed to drag on in many broken fragments- Orsino was kissing her once more and she was responding, moaning beneath him and trying to sate the fire in her that would not go out. Sweat laid the taste of salt upon their skin and the sheets tangled around them, trying to pull them back into the oblivion of dreaming. They strained to breathe but there was only pleasure and flesh, the dizzying feeling that it was too much and when the shudders of rapture finally faded, not enough- not enough. She fell once, twice into slumber but awoke again full of lust and frightened desperation. She reached for him. Her body ached and she knew that Orsino wasn’t the only one covered with bite marks and bruises.

  
Finally, when all the world had dissolved into sand and even the room around them was dust, Meredith spoke. Whispers escaped her, words she didn’t hear and didn’t understand leaving her lips to fall against a pointed, elven ear. Her mind shut them out, rejected them, forgot them- probably because these words were all true and she never wanted to know.

  
Orsino listened and perhaps he sighed and held her tighter.


	2. Hangover

     Meredith awoke slowly, her first twinge of awareness brought about by the excruciating pain in her skull. After a few belated moments, her brain provided her with a reason for the pain and a reason that excessive amounts of wine had been consumed to prompt it: Wintersend.

  
     She groaned and shifted, cracking open one eye before quickly thinking better of it. Vision was a necessary sacrifice if the agony in her head was to be kept bearable. More pain thrummed through her body, that subtle and strangely enjoyable ache which spoke of excessive amounts of incredible sex.

  
    …Her brain was not providing a reason for that.

  
    “What time is it…?” she groggily asked the man pressed against her back, her voice scratchy from sleep.

  
    “One in the afternoon,” he replied, the words rich and rolling on his tongue. The sound sent a pleasant shiver down her spine. “Don’t worry; I doubt anyone is feeling sprightly after last night’s celebrations.”

  
    “Mmm,” she said, pressing her face into the pillow. Her headache was making her delirious. When she woke up a bit more, the hand on her stomach would be thick and calloused instead of elegant and thin. The voice in her ear would be coarse and respectful instead of intelligent and gently amused. Maker, which one of her officers had she fallen into bed with…?      
    Her brow furrowed as she retraced vague memories of losing a card game. Then she had walked into the wrong office- A stab of agony through her temple made her abandon the attempt and she groaned again.

  
    “Headache?” her lover asked, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “You drank too much, Meredith.”

  
    “Hmm,” was her profound reply. He was being…too familiar.

  
    He chuckled against her skin, his arm tightening for a moment around her waist. Then he reached up, lightly pressing his fingertips to her forehead. White light shimmered against her closed eyelids, trying to breach the thin barrier of skin to her retina. It vanished a moment later and with it, the pain.

  
    Meredith inhaled slowly, opening her eyes. The stillness that descended over her came quickly but with a fluidness that made the locking of her muscles subtle. The room no longer seemed too bright and she let her gaze trail over the luxurious space she had seen a few times before- there, in the corner, a messy desk covered in poorly organized parchment and there, a bookcase that was cluttered with old and well-used tomes. The bed she rested on had curtains and a coverlet of deep blue and gold brocade. The woods were all polished mahogany, rich enough for the Viscount himself. Light bled in from a paned window, bathing the floors in a golden, afternoon glow and making the room all the more comfortable. It was a stark contrast with her own, barrenly impersonal quarters with neutral colors and rigid tidiness.

  
    She knew what she had done but even with her eyes wide open, she clung to the moment, prolonging it, cursing him in her head. He could have let her endure the headache. He could have soothed it away with kisses and warm arms wrapped around her instead of that damned magic which made the truth too abundantly clear.

  
    The Knight Commander and First Enchanter were in bed together, the former of which coerced in a drunken state, the latter of which no doubt planning blackmail or worse. Her night of blithely ignoring reality was over now.

  
    “I’ll kill you,” she hissed.

  
    She tore herself from Orsino’s arms, slamming one hand down around his throat and pinning him back to the sheets. Trembles shook through her as she stared hatefully down at him and she didn’t know if they were caused by rage or by horror.

  
    The First Enchanter made no move to resist, his expression calm as he stared up at her. The bite marks peppering his long torso and shoulders made a mockery of her fury. “I can think of worse ways to die,” he replied, his green eyes trailing deliberately down to her naked breasts and back up.

  
    She snarled wordlessly and stood, glancing wildly around the room and trying not to feel his gaze on her back, trying to ignore the stickiness between her legs.

  
    “Where are my clothes?” she asked, her voice gone abrasive and flat.

  
    “I don’t remember,” Orsino replied musingly. “Maybe they slid under the bed?”

  
    She looked back to him, murder in her eyes. “I’ll kill you,” she said again, biting out the words because they were a lifeline and she had no idea how to handle the situation.

  
    She had long suspected him of underhanded tactics but _this---?_

  
    Meredith expelled a slow breath, controlling herself and snatching a wool blanket from the foot of the bed. She wound it tightly around her shoulders, stalking about the room in search. There was an empty goblet on the floor, lying forlornly on its side. Her tunic should have been there. Her eyes narrowed.

  
    “You hid them, didn’t you?” she said with cold resignation, not looking at him.

  
    She heard him shifting on the bed, the low hum that left his throat. “Say I told you where they were, Knight Commander,” the mage hypothesized, “what would you do? Stroll casually down out of the Circle tower with swollen lips and sex hair? You should wait here until it’s dark again; there will be fewer onlookers about.”

  
    She closed her eyes, telling herself that she was wearing her armor because the steel was in her bones and not just an external wrapping. Surely, after so many years of ignoring her heart for duty, she could say she was more a weapon than a woman. There was no point in dancing around the subject or playing Orsino’s game. Fact was fact and here she was, in the fucking Circle tower asking the fucking First Enchanter where he had hidden her fucking clothes- a dismally appropriate choice of words.

  
    She turned, approaching him slowly and coming to a stop at the side of the bed. “Destroy my reputation if you must, mage,” she said quietly, her eyes boring into his. “You caught me in a moment of weakness and whatever damage you wreak is vengeance won. I will not however, be blackmailed nor will I surrender even an inch of leeway for you or your Circle. My duty is clear.”

  
    He met her gaze, arching one eyebrow. “I have no intention of blackmailing you,” he said, sounding somewhat affronted. “And you think an affair with you is good for my reputation? I won’t mention this to anyone!”

  
    “Why else would you seduce me while I was drunk?!” Meredith demanded, trying to suppress the hysteria in her voice.

  
    “I could hardly have seduced you while you were sober,” he replied, then softly, “don’t deny it, Meredith. We both needed that.”

  
    She faked a caustic laugh and straightened, turning away with a shake of her head. “The things you say!”

  
    Her heart was pounding. She reminded herself that he was surely lying but the memories were coming back, sweet and intoxicating. More than the wine and the lyrium, more than the maddening-tantalizing-too good feel of his body, she was lured by the painlessness she had found in his insidious embrace. She had not been seduced by a kiss. She had been seduced by humor, by intimacy, by an outstretched hand where before, there had only been fingers pointed in loathing accusation.

  
    “Would you like me to heal those for you?”

  
    She glanced sharply back at him, watching as he rose from the bed and somehow managed to look dignified with a sheet draped loosely around his lanky frame. It took her a moment to realize what he was referring to. She placed a hand to her neck, feeling the twinge of bruises shaped like teeth. Maker, she didn’t remember him getting that rough-

  
    She tensed when he placed a hand on her shoulder, watching him warily as a white light glowed in his palm. She did not protest however, wanting the marks gone and accustomed enough to healing magic not to snap and smite him with her holy power.

  
    “It’s not entirely my fault, you know,” the First Enchanter argued reasonably, focusing on the parts of her shoulder and neck that her blanket left bare. His voice was low and calm, foil to her chaotic, roiling silence. “I’d been doing paperwork for nearly sixteen hours straight because the Chantry absolutely insisted on having complete records of all the spells Kirkwall’s Circle has invented over the past ten years- did you get any demands like that? I think they’re cracking down.”

  
    “Yes,” Meredith answered shortly, absently since she was tracking the path of his hands along her collarbone. “I’ve been getting letters from Orlais, asking about recruitment protocol and proper religious education. They’re tightening their hold on us, that’s all.” She shook her head. “I completed all my paperwork the previous night while you were off-”

  
    “Dealing with that apprentice,” the First Enchanter finished, cupping her jaw to press his thumb against her lower lip. The swelling there faded.

  
    “We both have highly stressful jobs, Orsino,” she reminded him with a snarl, jerking her head out of his grip. “I don’t think being tired is a suitable alibi.”

  
    “I simply mean I was in no state of mind to resist when you walked into my office, for once wearing no steel and looking beautiful.” He did not meet her eyes after the statement, instead smoothly walking around her and lifting her hair to tend to some bruises on her back. The compliment caught her off guard because she had expected and prepared for mockery; she stared at the wall.

  
    His deft fingers dipped beneath the blanket, chasing after a lower bruise. He was standing far too close to her now and she had let it happen, let him bend toward her ear. “Meredith, don’t be upset.” She could feel his breath, hot on her neck, his body just almost touching her back. Her eyes half closed, a shudder running through her. His hand settled on her waist, establishing a connection, a hold by which to anchor her to him and to the moment.

  
    She forced out a harsh breath, stepping away as her hands clenched into fists around her ludicrous, make-shift apparel. Beneath the wool, her body was beginning to burn once more, reminding her treacherously of the many pleasurable uses for Orsino’s skillful fingers. “I am not susceptible to your influence, mage,” she grated out, meeting his eyes.

  
    They were unexpectedly earnest and she realized that his eyes had always been too expressive, too filled with shadows when his thoughts were dark, too filled with fire when he was angered. The deep green orbs now reminded her of herbs and potions, something laced with subtly addictive power.

  
    “And if I am not trying to influence you?” he challenged quietly, pulling at her with his gaze. “If I want the same thing you want?”

  
    “How would you know what I want?” she snapped, jabbing one angry finger at him.

  
    “You told me,” he answered simply. “Last night.”

  
    She paled and felt sick, trying to hide it with a cold expression. “What?”

  
    He studied her face. “You don’t remember?”

  
    Anxiety clenched within her because she didn’t. She gritted her teeth. “You’re bluffing; I didn’t tell you anything.”

  
    He turned away, carelessly casting one long hand through the air and strolling farther into his room. “On the contrary,” he replied, “you finally admitted your enduring dream of becoming the Queen of Antiva! It must be a templar thing.”  

   
    “Oh?” she shot back, “because a moment ago, you suggested our desires were the same!”

  
    “The Queen of Antiva wears such beautiful, rich clothes,” the First Enchanter contemplated, shaking his head in dismay. “Any excessively ostentatious mage such as myself would feel envy…”

  
    Meredith stared bemused at the elf’s back as he disappeared into one of the other rooms of his suite. He was making jokes now? Oh, she needed to write the Chantry as soon as possible- the prodigious elven First Enchanter had acquired a new talent! She could set him up in the courtyard with a jester’s hat and dancing monkeys-

  
    The Knight Commander released a low growl, stalking after him. He had left the bedroom for a clean bathing area, furnished with only a large copper tub, a screen for changing clothes and a table bearing various soaps. He was filling the tub from a pump, completely unperturbed by her approach; it grated on her nerves.

  
    “Admit it,” she persisted, “I told you nothing.”

  
    “Don’t be embarrassed,” he consoled her without looking up from his task. “Everyone has delusions of grandeur now and then.”

  
    “I am the _Knight Commander!_ ” she exclaimed, frustrated beyond belief. “My grandeur is reality!”

  
    “Yes, Meredith,” he agreed soothingly, “of course it is.”


	3. Red-Handed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, now we must examine the occurrence from the perspective of a more reliable narrator who is thankfully, not drunk out of his mind. Unlike a certain Knight Commander. So. There will be one more chapter after this and as you will note, Meredith failed to notice a great many things due to her intoxication.

    Though he seldom bothered to think on it, First Enchanter Orsino had several bad habits. There were the physical ones, of course- the way he kept forgetting to eat and the way he kept staying shut in his office hours too late to finish his work. He had gotten thinner over the years, even the fussing of the anxious senior enchanters not enough to keep up his health. “Focus more,” they said but how could a person focus on food when every second, an innocent life could be stolen away, condemned to bleed out on a templar’s sword? Orsino fought with ink and quill, with throat-tearing, voice-breaking arguments in Meredith’s office, with every painstakingly dangerous bit of subversion he could arrange. Two more apostates were scheduled too soon for the Harrowing Chamber and someone wanted that stammering apprentice made Tranquil- how could there possibly be any time to eat?

  
    His other bad habit was the aforementioned subversion.

  
    Orsino did not consider himself to be like the corrupt politicians in the Viscount’s court. Meredith would, of course, label his actions treason if she knew even half of them. The First Enchanter however, was not motivated by personal gain but by defending the trod-on, frequently trampled rights of the Circle mages. He had always been gifted with magic, naturally excelling in his younger days and passing the Harrowing with ease. Few were so lucky and from the precarious seat of his position, he witnessed the fall of the weak and the crushing oppression of those strong enough to survive. Essentially, what drove him to darker deeds was compassion. If he viciously enjoyed whatever trouble he managed to cause the Templar Order, that was driven by resentment.

  
    So, it was perfectly predictable that Orsino found himself shut in his office on the night of Wintersend, waiting as the hours passed by for the Gallows to go to sleep. When midnight came and most of the drunken shouting from around the lower levels had quieted, he slipped out of his office and crossed the narrow hall.

  
    Meredith’s office door was locked but that posed no problem for him. The telekinetic force of his own mind spilled into the keyhole, molding into the shape of the lock and lightly turning. A click sounded, loud in the shadowy hallway. The mage doubted that even half of his senior enchanters could manage the precision necessary to keep the door from blasting off its hinges but as he entered the tidy room, he left not a mark to betray his passing. With a wave of his hand, he lit the braziers on the far wall and shut the door behind him.

  
    Going through the Knight Commander’s papers was a frustrating process that devoured large amounts of time in exchange for meager results. The files were all coded and the neatly-penned documents within were frequently titled with numbers only. After two hours of searching however, Orsino had reaped a fairly successful harvest of templar plans and was busily copying down the information onto blank sheets of vellum.

  
    Amidst the lull of late-night silence, a new sound wove itself into the soft hissing of the braziers and the scratch of quill against parchment. Orsino straightened, his back aching from the two hours spent here and the long day before that of ignoring the festivities to defeat his Chantry paperwork. He listened for a moment, wondering if he had imagined the haunting melody that whispered at the edge of his hearing- but no. It came closer, the tune slow and pensive, the singer possessing a tired but wistful voice. It was a voice he recognized.

  
    Shaking himself out of his stupor, the elf quickly replaced the stolen information where it had been filed and frantically glanced around the office. There was no way to hide his presence, he realized with the sinking weight of dread in his stomach. He would never be able to gather all his papers and hurry back to his own office before she arrived. He stood for one frozen moment beside Meredith’s desk, a crease between his brows as thoughts turned madly in his head.

  
    Then it hit him; Meredith was humming. _Humming_.

  
    He sank elegantly into the chair, straightened his back and returned to work, a façade of calm enveloping his demeanor.

  
    She opened the door a moment later, frowning briefly at the lock and blinking with a grimace at the brightly lit room. She had forgone her full plate mail for the gold-edged, red tunic beneath and the stiff fabric followed her body in an appealing show of lithe muscle and feminine curves. Her long legs were sheathed in leather, her footsteps unusually quiet in flexible boots. Her golden hair was loose around her shoulders, catching the firelight from the braziers and softening the sharp lines of her face. As Orsino had predicted, her eyes were clouded, too bright and yet just barely out of focus as she met his gaze.

  
    “What are you doing in my office?” she demanded, looking more bewildered than angry to see him sitting casually at her desk.

  
    “This is _my_ office, Knight Commander,” Orsino lied with derision, hardly sparing her a glance as he turned back to his work. At the edge of his vision, he could see her glancing about the room, actually second guessing herself. He was torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to flee as quickly as possible. She may have been drunk and unarmed but Meredith could kill with her bare hands; Orsino had seen her do it. Finally, her expression settled on a cool glower as she crossed her arms.

  
    “That’s the best excuse you have for going through my papers?” She approached the desk, her aggressive stride made smooth and distracting by her intoxication- and by her leather pants. She glared but he nearly missed it because he was staring at her legs. “I suppose this isn’t my desk either?”

  
    Orsino blinked, bemused by both himself and by the way Meredith was intently examining the desk. He studied her for a moment in silence as she tried to reaffirm her dubious ownership of the pearl-enameled surface. The blurred state of her mind was obvious at this point. The First Enchanter allowed himself to relax, certain that he could handle a drunk Knight Commander more successfully than a sober one.

  
    “You do realize that our desks are perfectly identical, don’t you?” he pointed out, scribbling away. He was copying down plans for a templar raid on Ostwick. If he sent a letter tomorrow morning, it should reach his apostate friend a few days before the attack.

  
    “In which case,” Meredith continued, still fixated on the desk, “you might have used magic to bring _your_ desk into _my_ office, switching the two for some nefarious purpose that only you comprehend?”

  
    “Or I could be sitting at _my_ desk in _my_ office talking to a very drunk templar,” the First Enchanter countered effortlessly, blotting his parchment and setting it aside to dry. Rather than let her struggle with the new concept, he deftly changed the subject. “Casual clothes suit you, by the way.”

  
    And Maker, _did_ they.

  
    It was almost ludicrous how attractive this steel-garbed, tyrannical, mage-slaughtering madwoman could become just by downing some wine and wearing a tunic.

  
    She sighed, the sound weary and pensive. “My shoulders don’t feel any lighter. All this time, I thought my armor made me tired and it was really the weight of your insufferable existence.”

  
    “Is that any way to reply to a compliment?” he murmured, hardly surprised by her words. She had never been the sort to enjoy compliments. Biting retorts came so much easier to her than _‘thank you’_ and _‘you think I’m beautiful?’_   He shook his head at the thought, retrieving a new piece of paper from his stack. What was the point of regretting the bitterness and tension between them? It was far too late.

  
    “Are you going to make me wait all night?” she demanded. “Get out of my office.”

  
    “No, Meredith,” Orsino sighed, crossing a T viciously. “I have no intention of moving until at least four AM. Go bother one of your templars.”

  
    He barely heard her move and with his eyes trained fixedly on his letter, he was completely unprepared when she seized his right ear and yanked hard. Pain rammed through his skull and a startled yelp escaped him. He quickly dropped his quill to slap her hand away. He cringed away from her, too surprised to do much more than stammer. “Meredith, what in Andraste’s name- that hurt!”    

  
    She looked down at him, a mere pace away. The strangest thing happened then. Her usually frozen expression softened, the fire in her eyes gentling into warmth and a breath of sound leaving her lips. The mirth that brightened her irises made her look younger, softer and too beautiful to exist in a wretched place like the Gallows. It struck him suddenly that before now, he had never once heard her laugh. He covered his abused ear with one hand, nearly too awed to resent the price paid for it.

  
    “Go on,” Meredith insisted, smiling as if they joked together and casually talked to each other all the time. “Get out before I must use more extreme measures.”

  
    “I’ll tell the Grand Cleric,” Orsino threatened, barely putting any effort into his comeback. He was captivated by the sight of her and the suddenly inexplicable urge to reach out, to touch her. He had never thought her flesh could be carved of anything but metal and ice but looking at her now, seeing this unguarded _warmth_ …

  
    “‘Elthina, that tyrant Meredith yanked my ears!’” the Knight Commander imitated, her sharp voice softening into a lower impression of his and one hand gesturing with passionately curled fingers. “It’s clearly oppression!”

  
    “Clearly,” the mage agreed wryly, trying to adjust to the blatant lack of malice in the exchange. He dragged his eyes away from her, unnerved at the stuttering of his heart. “Mages everywhere will cower in fear of your new intimidation tactics.”

  
    “The ones with annoyingly long, pointy ears at least,” she quantified with the racism she saved specially for him alone. She seated herself on the desk just inches away, carelessly breaching his personal space. He was caught off guard again, pinned by her contemplative stare and the effortless intimacy of her demeanor. Despite his best efforts to control himself, he stole a glance at her thighs and hips- a hairsbreadth away now- and moved some papers to serve as an alibi. Her body was firmly toned and graceful but it still possessed the irresistible curves of human women, making the Knight Commander a fascinating contrast of lithe muscle and soft flesh. It was practically a crime that she wore steel instead of silk, tunics and pants instead of dresses. He began to imagine. What would suit her best- icy blue perhaps…? Or a deep wine-red?

  
    He looked up to see her staring at him and their eyes locked. She smiled wistfully, completely lost in thought and not seeming to notice the long silence. She was completely absorbed in studying his face and her gaze pulled at him, as if she was trying to drag him closer with temptation alone. He remained utterly still, forcing back his equally unnerved and allured emotions. Finally she looked past him, saying nothing of the exchange. A pensive sigh escaped the templar’s lips, her eyes going hazy and her vision focusing on the office windows where frost kissed the dark glass.

  
    His eyes narrowed as he regarded his papers. It was too late at night. This was too much. She was too close.

  
    “You should go to bed, Meredith,” Orsino suggested lowly, carefully picking up his quill.

  
    “What are you even writing?” she inquired, catching his shoulder in one calloused hand and leaning closer. A strand of her hair spilled forward, brushing against him. He could smell the wine on her breath. His heart should not have been pounding like it was. He should not have found her proximity arousing. He should not have felt anything but revulsion. He hated this woman. Just because a healthy dose of alcohol gave Meredith the semblance of a heart didn’t mean she actually had one!

  
    He fixed her with a steady look. “It’s my business, Meredith,” he said to dissuade her, “just like this is my office.”

  
    Her name came out too smoothly however- a sound that began firm and ended like a soft sigh. He wanted to say it again, to whisper it against her ear or mock her with it as he nuzzled her neck. He felt a lonely, aching need for the warmth in her smile- because as long as he had known her, he had been abraded by harsh zealousness and cold suspicion. After years of being metaphorically pinned between templar steel and the hard walls of the Gallows, he was separated from her now by only fabric. Her armor was gone and with it, her suspicion, her hatred, her unwavering belief that he should be treated like a threat instead of a person.

  
    Suddenly, Orsino found himself wondering exactly how intoxicated she was, how much he could get away with.

  
    “It isn’t your office,” Meredith insisted, frowning at him then looking down. Controlled by impulse, she reached out to finger his gold-edged collar. “Mages are so excessively ostentatious,” she muttered under her breath.

  
    “Meredith,” he said but she didn’t seem to hear him. It would have been wise to get away while he had the chance, to cover up his theft of information with her timely intoxication. It would have been clever to daringly seduce her so that he could hold their affair over her head, perhaps earn some slack in the Circle’s chain with threats of exposure. Logic, however, was the farthest thing from the mage’s mind. He was desire, emptiness wanting warmth, weariness craving respite. The thought of seducing her was a joke because _she_ had seduced _him_ , unwittingly driving him mad with an unguarded laugh, an unexpectedly affectionate touch.

  
    He stood, catching her shoulders and shoving her back onto the desk as he captured her mouth.

  
    She responded almost immediately, her soft, warm lips molding against his and a pleased hum leaving her throat. He pressed closer, needing to feel her against him and know that this was real. His fingers tangled in her hair, threading through the golden strands. He kissed the corner of her mouth, making an almost questioning sound as he ran his tongue across her lower lip. She granted him the entrance he sought, her hand catching his neck as their tongues entwined- and in the back of his head, he thought, yes-yes, he could get away with this. He could have this.

  
    Somehow, he managed to grab all of his papers and coax the handsy Knight Commander out of her office. Somehow, he managed to ignore the panicked rationality screaming at him to stop and he led her to his room in the Circle Tower. She blinked a few times on the way and when she questioned him, he could see her quick mind beginning to struggle out of its haze of intoxication. He subdued her with drugging kisses, losing his good sense just as much as he endeavored to make her lose hers.

  
    When the door of his room was safely locked and the beautiful, ruthless Knight Commander of the Templar Order was melting at his touches, he poured her more wine- because wine was possibly the only thing that kept her from strangling him- and drew her into his arms.

  
    They made love frantically and Meredith overwhelmed him, pressing him down with her strength and her burning heat until he was writhing beneath her. She rode him, her breasts bouncing and her hips grinding urgently against his. He gasped and moaned her name, letting her control him, letting her drive them both over the edge and collapse at his side.

  
    His patience paid off.

  
    Orsino drew in a deep breath, coming back to himself in the shadows of his bedroom. Meredith was asleep at his side, her legs tangled with his amidst the white sheets and her breathing steady. He was cold, the sweat of their passion having dried and chilled his skin. He stirred, the weight of her body half resting against his enough to make warmth start flooding back.

  
    He drew her closer, his fingers trailing up her side and his lips pressing kisses to her ear. He nuzzled at her golden hair, pushing at her shoulder until she rolled onto her back. A low hum escaped her lips, her eyelids fluttering. He traced designs across her flat stomach, marveling at the tautness and smooth white skin. He kneaded her breasts, bending his head to her warm flesh and taking a nipple in his mouth.

  
    Meredith woke in a daze, tossing slightly against the sheets and murmuring his name in a thick voice. Her eyes cracked open, her blue irises foggy and intoxicated. He nipped lightly at the hardening nub in his mouth, his attentions eliciting a moan and making her shift restlessly beneath him.

  
    “Orsino,” she said, more coherently this time, her fingers threading through his hair and tugging. He took the hint, moving to kiss her and a thrill running through him when she melted into his touch. She made no attempt to dominate the kiss, her mouth wanting against his and her lips parting compliantly to give his tongue access. The taste of wine lingered but he was dizzy with triumph, with the feel of having his way with the Knight Commander and her too drunk not to love it. When he sucked and nibbled at her neck, she writhed, her disoriented hands pulling at his shoulders and waist. The murmurs and breathy moans spilling from her throat inflamed him and his cock was hard again, throbbing insistently.

  
    He slipped a hand between Meredith’s thighs, shuddering at the feverish heat he found there and pressing two fingers into her entrance. She was wet, so much that he ached in sympathy. He pressed his thumb against her clit, watching her as she bucked and gasped. Her eyes met his, her gaze clouded with lust and wine.

  
    He moved to kneel between her legs, kissing his way down her body. His lips brushed over her stomach, feeling it contract with her shaken inhalation before he continued on to the dusting of blond hair between her legs. He dipped his tongue between her folds, gripping her thighs to keep her still when she squirmed and moaned. He explored her thoroughly, kissing and licking all the while Meredith became increasingly undone. She trembled, shudders wracking through her and her hands twisting in the sheets. Orsino nudged her clit with his tongue and a cry tore from her throat, a jolt running through her body. He continued to torment the small nub, sucking lightly until she sobbed against the pillow.

  
    “Please-” the Knight Commander finally gasped out. “Orsino…nn- please…!”

  
    The sound of her voice made him dizzy and Maker, was she _begging_? She was begging. A moan left Orsino’s lips and Meredith thrashed as he thrust his tongue deep inside her. It was hardly seconds before she came, her body convulsing and shaking against the sheets. He drew back to study her face, devouring the sight of her flushed cheeks and delirious blue eyes, her golden hair fanned messily across the pillow. Meredith gasped and went still, relaxing bonelessly as she regained her breath. Trembles ran through her now and then, the aftershocks eliciting small sounds from her lips.

  
    Orsino moved back over her, kissed her jaw and shoved into her.

  
    Meredith’s eyes went wide and she sucked in a quick breath. “Maker,” she managed to swear, “ _wait-_ ”

  
    Even if he had cared to pamper her, or to be remotely courteous- and he didn’t care- Orsino could not have held back. Her voice, her eyes, her movements and her decadent flesh, her every breath of air drove him mad, just as the feel of her body liquid and powerless beneath his robbed him of all control. She was wet and hot and so tight. She had no strength but to lie there as he pounded into her, shallow gasps escaping her at the force of his thrusts.

  
    “Wait,” she tried again, her voice strained and high, “I can’t- ngh, too fast-”

  
    He lifted one of her legs to find a better angle, groaning at the feel of her walls clenching around him. It had some effect on her and she moaned, her hips rocking up against his. She tried to meet him and keep his pace but her attempts only spurred him on. He came, his vision turning white and his hips grinding frantically into her as his insides turned molten with mind-numbling pleasure. He forgot who he was in that moment and he forgot who she was, memories of the Gallows fading away until Meredith was just a tantalizing creature filled with warmth and passion, just a beautiful woman.

  
    He had enough strength to get off of her and collapse to the bed at her side. Meredith, forcibly aroused and still shaking, grimaced.

  
    “That was…hardly chivalrous,” she commented through heaving breaths, turning her back to him. Her body curled into itself, her hips rolling once against her will.    

  
    Orsino closed his eyes, a breathless laugh escaping him. He reached for her and slipped one hand between her legs, pressing his fingers back into her wanting entrance. “I’m not a knight, Meredith,” he reminded her and made her come again.

  
    They drifted in and out of consciousness and both were insatiable. Each time their bodies joined, the desire flared up again and Orsino became intoxicated by her once more. He pleasured her and took pleasure from her. He roughly held her down then he gently kissed her eyelids. Never in his life had there been a night like this; he could not stop touching her. In the brief intervals when he would surrender to exhaustion, staring listlessly in a daze or drifting into slumber, he would be roused by Meredith’s urgent lips on his neck and shoulder, her throaty whispers in his ear. He was trapped in her arms and she was trapped in his. The world could be ending and he would not have noticed.

  
    At some point, they laid in each other’s arms and Orsino stared up at the canopy of his bed. His feelings of triumph and malice had dwindled, burned away by lust and desperation. This woman had always been able to affect him too deeply, her stubbornness spurring him to anger, her cruelty driving him to panic and despair. It was frightening now, now that she was nuzzling affectionately at his ear and murmuring softly under her breath. It was frightening how tightly and securely he was embracing her, how wonderful it felt to have her in his arms and how he never, never wanted the morning to come.

  
    Was there no way to keep her from changing back into a ruthless tyrant? Could he keep her here forever, keep her smiling and light-heartedly mocking him, keep her gentle and warm? And really the question was: could he keep her drunk for the rest of her life?

  
    It was impossible. Even if he could use magic, wheedling and various underhanded tactics to get her to drink excessively, the Templar Order and the Chantry would never allow it. He stifled a groan, berating himself for even contemplating such a ludicrous plan and for an even more ludicrous reason. What sort of pathetic state was his heart in to have one taste of the Meredith Stannard beneath her Templar position and to become addicted the very same night?

  
    “I admire you.”

  
    The words were so soft, so unexpected that for a moment, Orsino was convinced he had imagined them. Meredith spoke again however, her voice musing and quiet, the confession falling from her lips as though she was scarcely aware of it.

  
    “Yes, I admire you a great deal,” she murmured, her voice still light and weightless. “You have lived the same life as those in your keeping and you have faced the same obstacles- being confined, being distrusted endlessly for an ability you never asked for. Yet…instead of bowing your head or worse, giving into demons, you fight endlessly for their sake.”

  
    “Meredith,” he began, alarmed by the words. They were spoken so carelessly, so matter-of-factly that it sounded as though she said them every day, as though they weren’t important, as though they couldn’t possibly cut like knives into the First Enchanter’s heart. Finally, he said, “you can’t possibly mean that.”

  
    “I mean it,” she assured him softly. “I know what you’re doing. I admire you and I hate you for it. Against all odds, you resist me and…” Grief slowly poisoned her tone, a sorrow so poignant that it could not be denied. “It is so much harder to sentence the tainted ones to death when you struggle to the last breath to save them. _Every single one_ , you always…you always try…”

  
    “You like killing them,” he insisted lowly, refuting her words with the conviction of a lifetime. “You like watching apprentices fail. You like swinging the sword, beheading those who have tried to flee the Circle. You enjoy it.”

  
    “Enjoy it?” she breathed, a tremble in her voice. “ _It breaks my heart_.”

  
    “Liar,” he whispered forcefully. “You hate us. You don’t even see us as people. You don’t know the hardships we suffer- being torn from our families, being locked up for years only to face the Harrowing and more suspicion! You don’t understand our terror!”

  
    “I understand why my sister feared the Circle,” Meredith replied in a monotone but she was distant, untouched by his accusations- and certainly, he had said it all before. “She would never have passed her Harrowing. She was too gentle, too innocent, too weak…”

  
    Orsino’s breath caught in his throat. “Your sister was a-”

  
    “I watched the demon possess her,” the Knight Commander recounted wearily, “and I watched her tear off my parents’ faces and rip out their hearts. I watched the Templars slay her as she stood in a sea of corpses.” Orsino stopped trying to interrupt. He stilled, his muscles locked and he listened. “She killed seventy people,” Meredith continued listlessly. “It wasn’t her fault. She never asked for the power. She never asked for the curse. Even now, orphaned, saddled with the blame of sheltering an apostate, how could I ever, ever hate her for it?” A sob broke her voice. “It wasn’t her fault…”

  
    Orsino had nothing to say so he made no attempt to speak. Meredith was silent for a moment, her body still and half pressed against his.

  
    “It’s not your fault,” she breathed, exhausted and half asleep. “It’s not your fault that you have magic. And those who fall? Their only sin is being weak. I know that, Orsino. And believe me…my dearest wish is to destroy magic itself…but I cannot. I can only kill those who are not strong enough to live with their curse. Maker save me, if it protects Kirkwall, I will do it…I will do it…”

  
    The First Enchanter’s only reply was a shaken exhalation. Meredith’s eyes closed, her head resting on his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  
    When she had fallen asleep, her breathing deep and steady, Orsino‘s arms tightened around her.

  
    “Andraste’s grace,” he cried in horror, staring up at the ceiling. “What is my strength if I cannot even despise you?”  
  



	4. If Only

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late; it took me forever to figure out how I wanted to finish it. Anyway, I added some more smut just to reward everyone for their patience! And...it's finally done. Enjoy~   
> Please spread the love for Orsino and Meredith because too many people just don't realize how broken they are.

Orsino awoke some minutes after noon, feeling groggy, deliciously exhausted and somewhat in need of a bath. He stared blearly up at the familiar blue brocade of his bed’s canopy, collecting memories of the night before and arranging them into something logical. A realization hit him.

The soft, warm woman in his arms was a very lethal, very dangerous templar knight who had every reason to feel murderous when she woke up.

And he was going to be murdered.

The mage’s eyes widened and he carefully sat up, his heartbeat turning arrhythmic with panic. Luckily for him, Knight Commander Meredith was in a deep slumber and did not awaken as he extracted himself from the tangled sheets. He exhaled shakily and stood, glancing down at her apprehensively. Her naked back met his eyes, her pale skin marred by bruises where her shoulders met her neck. Orsino swallowed; there was no way she would write this off as a misunderstanding. What had he been thinking, seducing _Meredith?_

The sight of her twisted up in his sheets, all powerful limbs and lush curves made a jolt of arousal shiver through him. He shot a bland stare down at the wholly illogical, however eager part of his body. Right; that’s what he had been thinking.

Orsino harbored no delusions about what would happen if Meredith attacked him. Certainly, he could make the City of Kirkwall explode if he set his mind to it but like all mages, he was powerless against a templar’s Holy Smite. Assuming Meredith even needed it to kill him. Assuming he even had enough time to draw on his magic before she killed him.

The First Enchanter shook his head, turning away from the templar. Preventing her from committing a crime of passion was simple enough, so long as he could calm her enough to see reason. If she were to strangle him in his own bed, for example, and emerge ruffled from the Circle Tower, it would be quite obvious to the Chantry what had occurred. Meredith could hardly want to be known as the Knight Commander who drank too much, slept with a mage and got sacked for killing him the next afternoon.

He nodded reassuringly to himself. “Yes, Orsino,” he soothed. “Don’t fret; Meredith always pays more attention to appearances than to killing hapless mages.”

The sarcasm in that statement was obvious, even to himself.

He covered his eyes with one hand, glancing nervously back at the templar a moment later. She looked positively decadent wrapped in his sheets, the white fabric outlining her hips and just barely failing to preserve her modesty. He could see her breast where the linen dipped low around her chest. He could also see the lithe, hard muscle of her bicep. How many push ups did she do each morning to look like _that?_

Suddenly the door of his room looked very tempting. He could just run away. He would get dressed, leave for his office and by the time Meredith saw him again, he would be safely in public. Surely she wouldn’t kill him in public.

He ran that scenario through his head for a few times. When images of gore and agony overwhelmed him, he lost his nerve and began pacing. “She would definitely kill me in public,” he concluded.                

It was a good half hour before he decided that pacing wouldn’t help. He sat down in an armchair, forcing himself to relax. He was a middle-aged man, far too old to be panicking like a teenager. This situation was just shocking- both the revelations of the previous night and the fact that he had slept with her at all, the fact that he had _loved_ it. He exhaled harshly, rubbing his temples with two fingers. For a while, he just watched her sleep.

When calm at last descended over him, he made a few simple changes to the room. First, he hid the Knight Commander’s clothes. She could hardly go storming out of the Circle Tower naked. Next, he cast a silencing ward around the room. Now if she screamed at him, none of the apprentices doing chores around the tower would come to investigate. Obviously, both their reputations would be ruined if anyone learned of this affair. Lastly, Orsino eased himself back into bed at her side and curled himself around her.

He pressed his face to her shoulder and wrapped one arm around her waist. Just yesterday, he had seen her as a cold-hearted monster. Now, she was simply beautiful and injured and strong. He wasn’t sure he liked knowing. Still, it was far too late to back away. He was hooked, enraptured, addicted. He wanted her to leave his room with a satisfied smile and a promise to come back. Her warmth seeped into him, along with relaxation and he fell into a half-doze. Meanwhile, his mind slowly traced through persuasive arguments and logic.

It went about as he had predicted. She panicked, snarled at him, threatened to kill him and ultimately ended up stalking about the room in an ill-fitting gray blanket. Seeing Knight Commander demand the return of her stolen clothes was actually rather hilarious. He would have laughed if he was a more suicidal person. Despite her dangerous reactions, he tested her carefully. He spoke in a calm, logical tone of voice. He denied her ridiculous assumption of blackmail. He explained his reasons for seducing her even as he stroked at her neck and whispered in her ear.

She pulled away from him, of course, and the debate continued. It was fine. He baited her and coaxed her until she followed him to the bathroom, pulled on a string of what she might have told him last night. Then she threw a bar of soap at him.

He dodged by a hairsbreadth- more of a nervous twitch than a genuine reflex. The soap collided with the bathroom wall, its impact announced by a loud smack that echoed around the room. Orsino blinked wide eyes at the soap then sighed, returning to his task of filling the tub. He really did need a bath. If that bath included a curvy, soft human woman in his lap, all the better. Maybe the steam would calm her down.

“I won’t ask again,” Meredith threatened. She had found another bar of soap, it seemed, and was brandishing it. Faced with such an ultimatum, Orsino felt it was time to relent.

“Last night, you explained yourself to me,” he told her quietly, releasing the bath pump. He did not look at her, instead letting mana surge down his arms to kindle fire in his palms. The water began to heat. “I have known you almost two decades and all I ever saw was a cold, cruel Templar cutting down the people I cared for. You never smiled sadistically. You never offered a compassionate word. I could not discern your motives so I imagined them. You were a steel golem to me, scarcely mortal at all, living the procedure and process of the Templar Order. Now…I know better.”                

“You shouldn’t,” she said harshly, tightly gripping her bar of soap. “We’re only able to work together by keeping our distance. Your duty is to protect the rights of the Circle. If you hate me, you can fight against me all the better!”                

His heart sank a little but he persisted. “That isn’t what you want, Meredith. If it was, you would not have followed me here. I would not have kissed you when you walked in my office, if I wanted to fight you.”                

She closed her eyes. “Of course we don’t _want_ to fight. The conflict is heartbreaking, exhausting, deadening. But it is the Maker’s will. Tenderness and compassion seem like good things. Then a bunch of people die and you realize how selfish it is to allow yourself any warmth.”      

He raised his head, watching her closely. “Is that what happened with your sister?”                

She sucked in a sharp breath, taking a step back. “Oh, Maker-” she swore, horror crossing her face. “I told you that? _That?!”_ Her face contorted, anguish and anger twisting her features. “You know then. My shame, my guilt. I killed seventy people because I was conceited enough to think my love could control a mage’s curse. Does it please you, Orsino? To know that everything I do is just a desperate attempt to redeem myself?”    

“How old were you?” he murmured.

She blanched. “Old enough to know better! I should have turned her into the Order, no matter what my parents said-”                

“Answer the question,” he insisted firmly. He spoke with the same voice he used on babbling apprentices or old senior enchanters who wouldn’t stop bickering. Meredith hung her head.

“Thirteen,” she said lifelessly.

“You were a child,” he told her. He crossed the room, approaching her cautiously. She didn’t look up. He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Children know only what they are taught by their parents. The responsibility was theirs. You were a child. It wasn’t your fault.”                

“I am the only one still alive to take the blame!” she exclaimed, wide-eyed.

“The world is cruel, Meredith,” he breathed. “Some tragedies don’t have a deeper meaning. Some atrocities aren’t meant to be lessons. Why would the Maker crush one girl’s innocence just to convince her that she could never have happiness? Or warmth?” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I have said so many horrible things to you, never knowing the truth.”

She stared at him, something akin to fear behind her mask of stoicism. “I cannot have warmth that comes from _you_ ,” she said, a tremor in her voice. “This is…wrong.”                

“Shh,” he said, kissing her. He could not restrain his emotions, his mouth moving too urgently against hers. She gasped and stood stock still- but she didn’t move away. “This isn’t about work,” Orsino murmured against her lips. “We’re people, not duties to be fulfilled. I’m not perfect. I can’t see _this_ and not hold you.”                

Gently, he took the bar of soap from her hand and guided her to the tub. He pulled the blanket from her shoulders, setting it down by the door.

“I need to leave,” Meredith said haltingly.

“Get in,” he ordered, caressing her naked back until she stepped over the rim of the tub and sank into the warm water. He stood behind her, massaging her shoulders. His clever fingers kneaded her neck then moved up to stroke her scalp. He washed her blond hair, watching the sunshine gold strands darken with moisture and foam with soap. She relaxed, opening herself to his ministrations and letting her head hang over the rim of the tub. Steam rose from the water in clouds, making the air thick. When he rinsed the soap from her hair, she held out one hand to him; he got in with her.

Meredith embraced him, pulling him against her chest and dragging his mouth to hers. She kissed him without reserve, trying to pull comfort from his lips and coax succor from his tongue. Her wet arms wrapped around him, hands mapping the planes of his torso. Orsino tangled his fingers in her hair, pressing his mouth to her neck when she paused for breath. He recreated the red marks and bruises he had healed only minutes before, sucking at the soft flesh of her throat. She moaned and held him, rubbing the tip of his ear between thumb and forefinger. The swell of her breasts rose and fell against him as she breathed. Her thighs cradled his hips, rising on either side of him in the water.

They washed each other, dragging soap across exposed skin in turns. When the heat became too much, they stepped from the tub, still entwined as they fumbled with towels. Orsino would have led her back to the bed but Meredith was lost for patience. She took him to the floor, pressing opened-mouthed kisses down his chest. She took his length in one hand, her lips creating a gentle suction around his nipple as she stroked him to full arousal. The humid air made each breath thick with moisture. The pleasure of Meredith’s calloused palm and brisk strokes was dizzying. Orsino let his head fall back against the floor, dazed by the contrast of sweltering steam and cold stone. She raised her head to kiss him.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathed, drawing her close.

She was on top again but he didn’t mind this time. He doubted he would ever get her on her back again without copious amounts of alcohol. She sank herself onto him, her folds parting to envelop his member in slick, exquisite heat. He resisted the urge to buck his hips, instead grasping her thighs and pulling her down closer. They ground their centers together, stoking the fire between them. Meredith’s body trembled above him, her expression one of concentration, her lower lip caught between her teeth.

Orsino brought his hands up her body, caressing her hips and waist, testing the weight of her breasts in his palms. He kneaded her, his caresses less gentle as the pleasure mounted. A choked groan tore from Meredith’s throat, her leisurely rhythm breaking for quicker movements. She rocked her hips, rising up and slamming back down. He met her new pace, letting her take whatever angle she wanted, letting her pleasure herself on his shaft.

She found a particularly delicious spot and her velvety walls clenched hard around him. He shouted, his body arching off the floor. “Orsino,” she choked, petting at his chest with needy touches as her hips circled more quickly. “Almost-- _almost_ -” He caught one of her hands in his and their fingers laced tightly. With the other, he found the place where their bodies met. He teased her clit with one finger, circling the sensitive nub until she writhed and convulsed over him. Her walls fluttered around his member, dragging him deep until he was coming with her.

Pleasure flooded through them, spreading in waves through a tangle of aching muscles and sweat-slick flesh. He thrust into her once, twice more, spilling himself inside her. Meredith shook, gasping for breath as she slowly came down. She shut her eyes, collapsing next to him on the wet stone floor. She shuddered at the cold of it and writhed closer to him.

“One day,” she breathed, clutching at him, nuzzling his neck. “Just…one more day.”                

They did make it to the bed, even if it took a few hours.

She left that evening after taking another bath and reclaiming her clothes.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” she muttered in parting.

“Perhaps,” he replied.

“No, most certainly.” She met his eyes coldly. “If I fall in love with you, Orsino, I will kill you. We shouldn’t have done that.” And she was right, of course.

If only he’d listened.

 

-

 

If only he’d listened when she came bursting into his office the next morning, furiously throwing down at a stack of files.

“It wasn’t your office!” she snarled. “It was my office and you were stealing papers from my desk! I can’t believe I listened to you, you lying knife-eared bastard!”

And if only he hadn’t apologized to her with angry sex and his mouth between her legs.

If only he had been able to tolerate her cold mask throughout the days to come, instead of crawling to her in the night and coaxing tenderness from her with pleading kisses.

If only he had heeded the fearful suspicion in her eyes when blood mages began stalking the city streets. He seduced her and made promises to her. He broke his heart on her ruthlessness and healed it every evening with her love.

If only he had pulled away instead of drawing closer and closer, trying to drag her out of her guilt and hatred.

If only he had stolen more Templar plans instead of stealing her shattered-glass heart.

But Orsino was addicted and desperate and starved.

And Meredith annulled the Circle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And in a surprising twist, it's all canon-compliant! XD *hides*


End file.
